i sit.
i close my eyes and see the white spot between them.
would humans be smarter if we had a third eye?
a third source of visual information,
wouldn't that increase our brain size?

i sit.
i feel my tongue in my mouth.
it feels like sunflower sandpaper and
my gums feel tight - like someone's pulling them up and
molding my lower face into a tiger muzzle.

i sit.
i can't feel my nose unless i breathe,
every inhale brings a slight flare,
a slight awareness that
sour tastes are much more appealing than sour smells.

i sit.
i try to relax,
but everything is distracting.

i sit.
i want to do something ******.

i'm getting up.

The professor's voice fades away
As I notice a brown, flat-footed spider
Tiptoeing
Along our classroom floor.
I watch it,
Invested.
It moves closer to my feet.

I hope it comes my way,
But it moves to the ******* my right.
When I advise her to move her bags,
Spotting the spider, she and her empty eyes say,
"I kind of want to **** it."

I whisper, taken aback,
Don't **** it!
Her boot lifts,
Don't **** it! I say again.

I look away,
Opening my ears to Brahms.
I blink and glance to my right.
She's looking blankly at the teacher.
I can't see the spider anywhere, and
I demand, "Did you **** it?"

She turns her empty eyes,
"Sorry. I think it's sort of dead."
My eyelids tighten, eyebrows squished up,
"Why??"
There is no answer, and
I turn away with a heavy conscious.

It's kindly refreshing feeling this unburdened,
This unbridled by self-caused worry or stress.

It's quite wonderful,
I'm in awe.
Finally, I make my worth
Worthwhile for my self.
Where others could only see before,
Now I understand and transcend to the places
Of self-control and self-awareness.

It's oddly welcoming,
This metamorphosis, encouraged and manipulated before,
Now begins with my own will and desire.

For if you can pluck a leaf
Off of a tree before it's ready to descend of its own accord,
The tree would believe it to be, passively deceived.
But your efforts to force the tree to produce
Fresh new green would be in vain;

For every spring is an epiphany.
As it begins to feel the shivers of
A new beginning,
The delight of newfound self-life and self-love
And it chooses to change.

No one mourns the glory of the sky,
with its play of light and air and water,
that it is forever transforming from what it is
into what it is.
Indeed, it makes no sense to gaze longingly at a rose,
Grieving the inevitable falling of its petals.
No one fears the crashing of the waves,
Nor the melting of the snow,
Nor the setting of the sun,
Nor the passing of the breeze.

It only makes sense to not fear the Changes.

When you are so afraid of losing what you had,
the tenderness, the passion, the side-long glances, and the knowing smiles from the one who understands,
When you are so afraid of what is happening,
the confusion and aggravation, the sorrow and anger,
Every minor attackable issue exploited for a moment of attention and consolation,
You are only breaking yourself into pieces,
unrecognizable and infuriating,
down, into that ever-darkening spiral.

You are only digging your nails into your own forearms;
You are only darkening your own mind,
pulling grey clouds over yourself
when you are grasping and groping
to push them away,
falsely assuming there are any clouds at all.

I feel it is the right time to let you know that
I love him, but I don't necessarily miss him.
I wouldn't mind seeing him nor would I mind being with him,
But the distance between us does not bother me.
I'm not afraid of losing him, because
I'm not afraid of silly things.
I am far from regretting my decision to leave,
For I have learned and grown much since I've left.
I am in absolute awe of our love,
It's nearly incomprehensible, its purity and passion.
World, I wish you could understand.
I wish you could feel the same delight and freedom;
I wish, with all of my heart, that you could find
Someone that loves you for your every intricacy and quirk.
For if you did,
I believe you would be a much better person, undoubtedly.

Sincerely,
S. J.

All that
Anxiety,
Distress,
Self-dissatisfaction,
Confusion,
Delusion­,
and Fear
have gladly disappeared.

I believe they
learned the ways of
Simple living,
Meditation, and change
From trees' perpetual enlightenment.

I was talking to the stars one other night, and I asked,
“Why does anything exist?
It takes so much energy,
It's so much work for anything to exist.
It's not necessary for the oceans to teem,
For the trees to flourish,
For the birds to fly,
For the humans to love, hate, strive, and live.
Wouldn't it be easier for the universe to not exist at all?”

The stars laughed merrily and replied,
“And where would the fun be in that, you silly American?”

The golden tree offers hope,
and the night field welcomes the sleepless.
if we acknowledge the forest floor,
we will find our future path
and gold and silver
and beauty in our artificial lights.
in the details of the shadows,
we are blinded by the glares.
at the perfect angles, if we look just right
we can wonder
if balance should be the goal,
and if we should take the stairs one leg
and one stumble at a time.
If we sway with the gusts,
if we lay on our fronts,
if we feel the world around us,
its texture, its depth, its tactile reverence
and blur our ignorance of touch
out of reality
the details disappear
illuminate
the subjects submit
and pose for the moment
their value is recognized
their simplicity,
their essence
emerge,
envelop,
captivate,
trance,
in awe
of this evidence
can you imagine?

Are you not beautiful until someone tells you?
Are you not worth every chance of focus?

Attempt effortless existence,
Release your awe
fall where you lay
fall asleep as you blink.
Goodnight, all everlasting.

Passion
free from falsities,
untethered by tragedy,
unhindered by corruption,
untouched by treachery,

Passion pure
free to roam in awe and wonder,
eager to explore in hope and desire,
amazed to discover love for and from,
enveloped by Bliss

Immersed Emerged
Swimming in new renewed

The swine twists the twine
til the poison tastes like wine.

Everyone raised their glasses and cheered
For all that they had had to fear
Sat defeated and hopeless
Behind glass walls.

There lie imprisoned
Our reflections, the demons, the insecurities.
Smile,
Power only dies when it thinks it's invincible.

The swine sighs as it dines,
As the shrine entwines demise.

What is the sight of blood?
The essence of our mortality,
The horror of our brevity,
The factory of harmony,
Nourishment
            life
                awe
of, in the soul's home.

The Journey:
You can explore the extent of your boundaries,
Even transcend, but not without punishing balance.
Tipping, favoring a side, pulling it tight until
The Breakage:
Crevice filling to the brim, trickling to the depths of the
unknown,
awaiting, translating

Crystallization as the realization of the
personal scheme, the ego's circus, the mask-maker thrives,
the cultivation of sorrows contrives the demise of
Our own Evolution of sighs.

CRYSTALLIZATION
The process of modern self-identification.
We must fill a mold,
Originality must fold and
Collapse into a labyrinth.

Choosing to choose the options listed in front of us,
Never looking around or inside us.

What a clever game,
Self-aware while we remain ignorant essentially.
Climbing the hills, ladders, slides, and valleys
Without choosing to excuse ourselves
To a life without the conventional rides.

Perhaps, it can be no different...

The rose grows from the ground,
Some hidden, some found.
No ears, no sound.
We cannot fly.
To gravity, we are bound.

It matters
What matters
(it matters? what matters?)

For what exists has an opposite.
For what is freedom worth without captivity?
Where would passion be without apathy?
Wind, earth?
Peace, bloodshed?
Comfort, pain?
Fury, forgiveness?
Decay, fecundity?
Fundamentalism, atheism?

The world, our world, is a world of opposites.

Our building blocks are composed of
The Paradox.
A balance of what is inconceivable and actual.

Tip the scales, and Bleed.

What is the sight of blood if not tactile evidence
that we cannot live
unless
we pick ripe flowers and decorate our hair
with the nourishing caress
of petals and their precious fragrant hearts
and procure compassion providing possible sensual mysticism?

I was talking with the stars one night,
just as every night,
about existential concepts and other nonsensical things.

What is the reason for distance?
So you can feel emotions, so you may connect with matter.
So that you may be able to understand
the awe-inspiring essence of existence.
So that you are able to exist.

Let's allow our bodies to fall back into the sea of,
of awe in sight blushing fluid leaves
enlighten hibernating trees
serenity, relax on open-faced sunflower centers
exhaling petals and half-crushed leaves for the blue above
Glide, let your body slide with the wind
Dissolve as raindrops dissipate, disintegrate, and absorb
Absorb,
Absorb
In awe

You might as well have no fence
since you're just going to jump from side to side,
rolling from side to side and in circles and in zigzags,
Throwing your body like a flailing fish,
Bending your pointer and just
Touch
It to the other lawn.
You'll just desecrate one side's bushes
only to give the other your excrement as a
sort of Mad Hatter's pagan offering.
You'll relieve yourself on the lawn,
upset the owner of said lawn,
who complains excessively about how tediously he cared for each blade,
how furious he was at your insensitivity and indecency,
how his heart is now as crinkled and dry as the result of your relief,
who then suddenly realizes yellow is his favorite color
and
pays you
to ***
on the rest of the green.

Oh, I can't wait until we can paint clashing colors on our neighbors' doors,
leaving love notes in star-shapes, saying ha ha ha ha, We love you!
It's okay because the paint comes off when you kiss your love
and appreciate the sky and nod to your reflections in the night eyes
and fall in love with someone's mind.

But only then, only then does our message enlighten.
It's our life purpose to brighten your slacking eyes and to inspire you
to smile at the trees, to make eye contact with the homeless, to give flowers to strangers.
Blow bubbles, blow kisses, wink, and embrace!

Oh, I can't wait until we bury each other in sand,
Oh, oh, I can't wait until I can smooth all woes walled into your forehead.
To count your freckles and draw my dreams on our bedroom walls.

Oh I can't to wait to put olives on your fingers, put olives on your fingertips,
Because you have silly tendencies.
Don't let jealousy convince desire to worship ice cream cone gravestones.
When you bite your lip, don't eat pennies for at least a while.

Oh, I can't wait to play hide and seek with our identities and fidelities.
Oh, I can't wait to gather basketfuls of hope and lust.
Oh, I can't wait to hunt for honeysuckles and trust.
Are any sapien sexuals willing to step forward and comfort me?

Because I can't wait to see you again.
But, I can wait, I can wait, because
We blow each other kisses.
MWAH!

Who are you, Sarah Jystad?
You feel so lost, so aloof.
Lost in a labyrinth of clouds and smoke,
you are not even able to see your mind.
Your stream seems is evaporating.
You're longing, you're aching,
you're distracting yourself
with words, with sighs,
with laughter and compromise.

You feel so lost.
You spent so many years
climbing, toiling on a mountain,
up or down, hill or mound,
it is impossible to tell,
but so blindly,
so full of hope to transcend yourself and the fog,
so full of disdain for yourself and your peers.

Who are you?
Are you the hand you see shaking the other's?
Are you the light that decides its own dimness, its own brightness?
Are you the sobs of every past and present tragedy?
Are you the shaking sobs in the extinguished lights?

Who are you?
Are you independence, freedom, kindness, bravery, wisdom?
Are you fear?

Are you your abilities or your adjectives?

Who are you, Sarah Jystad?
Are you your name?
Are you what you feel at this moment,
Exhausted and lonely?
Are you what you felt yesterday,
Vibrant and joyful?

Are you your love
for the wind, the sky, the trees,
for the smiles, the embraces, the caresses,
for language, knowledge, and philosophy?

Does your love for your love swallow you whole and declare,
Voila, it's You!

Who are you, Sarah Jystad?

You are smart enough to know
that You are Everything.

You are a spiritual warrior,
your battle cries inspire your mind.
You are the uninhibited laughter of Freedom.
You are the kindest tears of Compassion.
You are the Strength of every passion.
You are the adventures of the Body.
You are the Comprehending Ego and I of Philosophy.
You are the inevitable paradox of Good and Evil.
You are the silent tears of this Instant.

You are Everything..

You are History, you are Future.

You are Time.

You are those Voids.
You are the Void of all Voids!

Nevertheless, it goes without saying,
You'd be upset if someone hit your head
With a smoking pipe.

Know that I love you more than ever before
Know that our souls smile together,
Wisely content with the other's existence.
Know that with every second's passing
I sigh,
Feeling within the deepest enclaves
Of my heart and mind,
That we have years and years
that we have yet to expect to have
To love each other.
If you are tired,
Rest.
You are strong enough to be content
Without me by your side.
When I come home,
When you and I meet eyes and
Release our tears and smiles
of relief and joy,
All that opposed our happiness and peace
Will
Fall
Away.

I love you,
And you love me.

Time apart neither negates nor emulates.
Time together is hearts' ecstasies.

I love you, universe.

Sarah

Numbers are simply the ends and beginnings of fractions
each eye opening
each blink
all melds into one single
millionth second thoughts
identification exists and arrives with preferences
Everything makes me laugh!
Oh, the gods are exceptional jokesters.
Outloud, inside, cries of glee, confusion,
Me.
Oh, truly talented gods,
You are the best actors yet.

the flash of lightning
stalked by the rumbles of thunder

Half-shut eyes shying away,
Lids fluttering from flat lines to fear.
Heaviness with
Every inhalation of this acid,
Poisoned air stippled with pollution,
Hatred and despair.
Envision trembling voids that yearn
For the pull of a black hole's infinite birth.

Wisps
           Clouds

Inflatable anchors
Lay in the water of
           the sea.
Shall we
               fish?

Ignore repulsion, my dear,
Accept compulsion, don't fear.
Don't let mere, bleary tears
Steer you from clear theory.

Expulsion of fear
Touching hard polished skin
Staring at distant glassy eyes
Yearning for glints of life
Searching, a step onto
An opaque sphere of
Infinite limitations

Finally, I am able to open my mouth
And Breathe
Without tension or stress.
No longer must I hold my breath and tighten my chest
And conform, appeal, or impress
The expectations, vanities, and stupidities
Of certain personalities.
Now,
I progress.
I have tolerated and waited,
Filling up the quotas issued by the blind
Outdated, unknowledgeable of the strife,
Of how many times we have broken down
And forced ourselves to shuffingly, reluctantly
Gather our pieces with disconnected, searching hands
And red-rimmed eyes.
For our will was to continue
Playing the game to be accepted into
A bigger game that offers
A paradox
Of freedom and responsibility.
I ordered the pocket-sized portion so
My portable paradox will have never have to leave my sight.

Faces outlined in black crayon,
Lonely parking lot trees,
Isolated by concrete, asphalt, and litter,
Mentally vain, narcissistic, futile
Fear of the void

The light was unexpected
Frightful
Its debut was never foreseen
Arbitrary fear
She is unable to open her eyes without
Fear of the light’s departure,
What is the dove never flies again?
Or the wind ceases to soothe?
Of the bars of her rotting cage
Disintegrate
But her eyes don’t understand that
She is free?
The cage remains
Indefinitely defining immobility,
Self-suffocation
Hands frozen around her face
And all she is able to see is
Her broken reflection
And him, unidentified and without identity,
Abandoning her
To a ceaseless cycle

A greasy cage, painted with chipped, faded gold,
Houses an individual whose identity is fastened by chains,
Silver chains rusty with the squeaks of a rat
Whose tail is pinched by the linked fingers.
The prisoner is taunted, with heavenly lights,
By one empty corner of the prison’s ceiling,
Partially freed to dream
Stars melting
On her skin,
Warm ice

Years ago, she had shredded and torn apart her wool blanket.
Its remains are piled in the far right corner
Collecting neglection and dust.

what happens when
the waves stop crashing?
when the clocks fall down?
What happens when the skies disappear because of fears?
what if I could taste the ocean’s tears?
what would have happened if
we had chainsawed that
nuisance of a Tree?
will I walk in a cage locked from the inside
until I die?
what if questions ceased to exist?

an artist and a philosopher
a poet and a guide
time
for them is
both clear and confusing
confusingly clear
clearly confusing
what would it have been like if
they had been born in a different time?

Little feet dance upon
Little dreams.
Little hands graze chests that protect
Little hearts.
Little faces
Masking
Little minds.
Silly, pointless lives,
You might as well dive,
And hide in a hole,
And conceal your pitiful minds.

Golden eyes lined with
Black.
Pale shoulders hunched,
Slack.
Fingers cautiously
Cross
Across bruised knees,
Lost.
Lovers cross stars,
Loss
Of true lovers’ loves’
Cost.

The shy light flickers and flies,
One more leaf dies.
Damp debris, in we reside,
Hiding places that provide
Spontaneous frights
And hilarious sights!
Wafts and wisps,
Wasps and whiffs flirt with stubborn
Stationary stones.
We shall flit upon
The forest floor,
Our home for forever
And more.

Since the embryonic mental state
My arms have prickled
Tickled like mad.
Recently, post-punishment
Soft, white down
Feathers
Emerged on my back and arms.
A mix of fear and hope
So overwhelming.
As I have avoided
The resentful, the hateful
I’m almost fully grown
Six foot wing span.
I almost ran
So close
I almost ran away
Until I saw their strength

I would rather be
A star swirling in unconscious ecstasy, or
The air captivated by gravity, or
One single wave as it shies from the shore, or
A pebble cemented into the sidewalk path underneath a leaf
as it’s cracked and crushed under the heedless, preoccupied nature of man, or
A humble crease of a sick rose’s petal, or
One coffee ground stuck to the bottom of a yellowed, chipped mug,
Because it doesn’t matter, it does not matter.
Nothing truly matters.
Whether you’re privileged or impoverished,
Content or depressed, dispassionate or obsessed,
A ****** or a giant, timid or defiant,
Powerful,
                           Crippled,
Insane,
                Naïve,
Whether you’re green with jealousy or environmental tendencies,
Whether you Fight,
Fight for world peace,
Fight to end, to ****, Hunger,
It will not matter.
Because Man is addicted to conflict.

War is on the pedestal.

Hatred, envy, greed, lust, and hunger all

FIGHT

To ensure its power.

With every hand that scrambles for control,
With every eye that narrows to aim,
With every breath held for stability,
That pedestal heightens and heightens.

You might as well sigh for the butterfly who killed all those damaged, but innocent individuals.
Its gentle wings, essential to its survival, are to blame.
So you might as well accuse that abusive husband in New Jersey for the Iraqi War,
And that fisherman in the ****** Islands for global warming,
Or that little boy who's crying for the emasculated, shrunken, pathetic homeless man muttering,
“Hope is hope because hope is never hope. Hope like a rabbit, hope hope hope.”

Can you not see?
Can you even Be?

I can only hope for an escape, an exploitation of no conflict or aggravation.
just one wisp of matter with no conscious mind.
I can only point at all inconsistence with determination to prove that the only consistency in this entire universe is simply
ILLUSION.

Here is the situation,
As unfortunate as it is,
You no longer have a significant part of my heart.
Once there used to be a time, twice a time, when thoughts
bombarded my mind and chances were they concerned you.
But now my eyes, as reluctant as they are, can see you,
You unintentional enchanter.
You accidental seducer.
You oblivious snarer of infatuated captivation.
You are the alpha of canker blossoms.
You are the epitome of everything that frustrates me.

I used to live in a house where the
Walls were your voice and your face.
A mental institution in which I was never voluntarily admitted.
A house of mirrors in which I couldn’t see myself or anybody else,
My thirst for your infatuation reflected,
Mocking smiles of every kind.

I cried blackened tears that fell to the
Ground and then flew into the sky like
Bleached ravens, like childhood dreams,
So carefully groomed by the mommies and the daddies,
Collapsing into little liquid drops dripping through the desperate holes of a strainer.

I cried because you seemed to find it
Necessary to seek interests in other girls
And never me.
I am not a bruised apple;
I am not a crushed autumn leaf;
I am not a discarded baby blanket;
And I am not unworthy.
So why in god’s oh so deemed holy name
Have you not seen me?

Or maybe you see it right on my face,
Like I’m a displayed canvas as easy to
See as red blushed from a pale, void surface,
And you are just messing with me.
Playing with me
As I am your spaniel and you can treat me as such?
Like I am a doll whose string you pull
And receive a pathetic voice pleading,
Love me love me.
Am I below your standard of interesting?
What could possibly be so wrong with or about me that repulses you?
Not you really, but more your interest in me.
At this moment I am wound tighter with exasperation
More than any moment before.
You will always be a tug of war in my life.
If only I could simply expel you,
The nuisance you are.

The man in the moon swallowed me whole,
Just as I began to admire his soft glow;
There he was, knowingly smiling over
The scary affairs of my teenage cares.
Apparently, I should mention
My attention was too much,
The perfect remedy for pro-love prevention.
Just in case it was neglected,
I must warn you,
Affection to your reflection sways you
To believe your giggle is perfection.
But when you are presented with rejection,
You’ll step back with a confused expression,
Wondering what happened to his original affection.

Now, I proceed.
I concede
Wooing the moon is harder than
Shaving a true hippie on ecstasy or ***
In the middle of the sea.
Why do I love someone who constantly
Turns around and hides himself
Whenever seconds pass
Only to tease me with peeks of his soul?
Oho what a divine mystery!
He’s a maze with infinite doors,
More complex than hallways,
More intriguing than apple cores, skin pores, folklores, or antique stores.

But
He wears a different face every day,
Masks of white, amethyst, and grey.
And
He seduces a variety of personalities,
Of intellectual minds, of our kind.
With his charm that, more than good, does harm
To us; who have put forth increasing
Efforts to make his eyes glitter,
We who pride ourselves on mental capacity, titter
With giggles,
Because we cannot think of a better reaction,
We are so consumed with him.

Freedom from the man in the moon’s
Enticing effect came only when I saw:
His redundant, repetitive cycles of beliefs and views,
Only sometimes were they new;
His aloof disconnection from others,
Even when I carefully showed the best parts of my soul;
And
The Fact
That so many others found him
Captivation, enchanting, and beautiful
Without the knowledge or understanding
Of his desires, values, or issues,
Of his dreams, sorrows, or needs.
Ignorant, blind, obsessive aspects of infatuation
Sicken me.

Now, for the better, I relay with
Content at this little success that it is
Much easier to tease, to debate,
To befriend the man in the moon
Now that I can resist his effervescent
Glow.

Still, I acknowledge, anticipate, and dread
The algae, the residue of my ephemeral love,
The waves and cycles of my affection;
Still, I crave a lucid connection to his mind, to his soul,
For I know enough
To embrace his being as consistently
As the sea kisses the sky.

But hardly does he ever show all of himself to one,
But always does he offer smiles and woos to all;
So, patience is my haven.
Empathy is my understanding;
Distraction, my refuge, my remedy.

Eventually, the man in the moon
Might attempt to love me
Fully.
Who knows with such an
Inconsistently predictable being?

As long as you are at the center of the earth
Or the edge of the universe,
Hell will never enter your existence,
Your experience.
Once, flaws embrace, sin sought with haste,
You can reject disgrace, attack commonplace,
But all were misplaced,

Without a trace.
Disappear.
Without fear.
Now,It is worth anything.
Other than avoiding fate.
It is never too late.

Face the sense evidence:
A blade of grass, a tender touch, a slice of sky,
One piece of sand holds billions of lives,
However fleeting, however insignificant,
All unending, all replicants.
The warm sun embraces your face’s unstable, tedious nature;
The earth steps on you as erratically as your feet follow you instincts;
The wind refuses to help you succeed in life
Except for a nice breeze;
The stars shine for your hope, for your passion
But they flicker.

The universe is relative –
Shocked crystal glass shards shared
Among the blissful crowd abusing the floor
With their tranced feet and ceaseless beat.

Or
Blissless Hypnosis,
Soul lost, listless,
Embracing shears and splinters
Of sneers and tears.
They merely bicker and snicker,
Trade fingerpoints and lies,
But forgive in time-
Who can bear to live alone?
And so, they retreat,
Return to the white strings of
Existence;
They compete
On who can fabricate a better
Phantom sheet.

Or
Slash the shoelace ties,
Fraternal, maternal,
Return all the beats, rhythms, revisions,
Riffs, myths, cysts.
Live on inflated lifeboats shrouded in mist.

Your haunting, taunting dark amethyst eyes with
Decorations of admiration exist:

As strong as –
As special as –
As much as –
As harmless as –
As constant as –

A grey, limp piece of neck string,
An empty swing,
A melancholy molecule of water dripping,
A monarch armed with thorn swords on its wings,
All of the things
Arbitrary and inconsistent
As existence.

The universe laughs at individuality,
The stars sob, pitying those persistent dancers
Who stomp their feet on sheets of glass.

The hypnotist smirked,
Phantoms never could resist the redundancyOf hell.

A pool with no walls in
An ocean with no souls
Has no choice.
Fate is the tyrant,
The trident even Poseidon controls not.

You cannot drown if you’ve never breathed air.
“Be no one like everyone,”
She laughs, “Equality 7-2521.”
My mouth remains frozen in the frown,
Brows furrowed down.

Disgusted by sheep, I never wear wool.
The fibers stick, ****, suffocate,
Even when dry.
No one else minds it. In fact,
They say “baa” and wear the same masks.

“Bah,” I mutter into ripples.
Witness myself in reflection, introspection,
Retrospection: the id is omniscient;
Individuals are conventional, rarely exceptional;
Explanations are like Time,

They wound and heal.
Truth is disposable, honesty opposable.
Disillusionment is discovery,
Disgusting, discarding, disregarding,
Disblahblahbinizing.

Splash the water, pause the thought process.
Steal fate’s trident, bend it
Into a bubble wand.
When dawn dawns,
Daintily dip the stick in.

A big, blue bubble is born
With each breath, with each blow.
I enter the bubble, in peaceful pace,
Gently lay down,
Knees kiss my face.

Sigh with relief, rebirth, rediscovery.
The ultimate revolution ending
In victory,
In magnificent realizations,
In my last gasp.

A Moth rests on your nose for your solace,
Disoriented by anxious breaths instead.
Still your lungs.
Postpone your life for another’s,
an insect that lives for an average of three days is worth
more than you of eighty years.
It has less time to live and
So is forced to live each nanosecond as its minute.
Hold your breath for a second and give it thousands of moments
To study the purpose of your pores, the nature of your nostrils, the message of your mouth.
It is a blessing that one who has such a blink of a life should choose you.
Its tentative, exploring antennae acknowledge your existence
For that moment
You are its universe.
You
Are the mountains, and underwater caves, the forests, the savannah, the tundra, the planets.

You
Are the suffocating suburbia, the twitchy towns, the neglected neighborhoods, the seductive cities.
You
Are sighing waterfalls, lighthearted hills, free-spirited skies, heartwarming dreams.
If god was the universe,
Then you’re set for heaven.

Except

The Moth flies away
Leaving you to take its place.

Stuck in a tar pit,
A black hole in which I sit.
Sighs, cries I can’t swallow.
Streaked, pale yellow sorrow.
Whining and wiping,

Pity’s hand pulls my head back until
Truth easily sees my stomach.
She grimaces, the tears that crawled
Past cheeks and lips are molding.
They have eyes and fingers that

Poke, ****, pinch, and pull apart potential passion.
Pity of the mind sets the mindset.
I can’t see past the four feet tall walls,
My neck strains to see above infinite,
Poor me, poor me.

Turn conscious grey hues into feuds,
Spin white and black into monsters of
Ambiguity and undeveloped negatives,
Mix colors of depressed clouds,
Brush the bound stolen hairs drenched
In blues against the mind’s reflection.
Distort reality, manipulate memory,
Exploit experience, maximize emotion.
Look at the soul of the masterpiece-
Magnificence personified,
Beauty and surprise epitomized.
Never have my eyes been blinded,
Reminded by thoughts’ image mirrored.

What from his efforts
Do we seek?
An unwanted wink,
Unnecessary hinting,
Increasingly unheeded,
Ceaselessly conceited?
Never fail to pity the male,
For feminine wiles avoid and
Prevail.

A simple, stoop of a man
Well-endowed with an ample brow,
Stood Encased
In a cage of frozen glass.
But fortunately,
The heat of his ignorant fire
Melted his shell of ice.
One drop dips, elongates with gravity,
Only to shatter,
Colder that the world’s soul,
Upon his introduction to reality.

We’re in a snow globe without any snow:
Black zebras with white stripes,
Beds without mites, children smoking pipes,
Men are mice wearing plastic vampire teeth.
Cages are cheap, get two for one free.

Escape only the truth,
Walk sideways blind-sided,
Put your hands to your eyes,
No one can get a little armadillo.

Green plastic shields suburbia’s
Golden bubble from tragedy’s barbed wire.
Tinted glass domes painted with fingers.
Two-way mirrors two ways and neither.
Brown grass hills, our walls, blindness is
Our black bleep bar in front of conflicts.
We chain link-fences, omit facts, draw the blinds.
Refuse to recognize:
Conformity is a cockroach.

Imagine a twin, a copy, a clone, if you will,
A rendition.
Inclined to think more than talk while you talk a lot.
Eyes blink in sync and blush the same pink.
Take her by the hand, your hand, witness, in reflection.
Reflection.
Paint your desires and preferences on her.
Think.
What will ameliorate me?
Me revealing me.
Mirror yourself, then look at the mirror.
Feel, see the differences,
You think you hate yourself,
Original face green, bulging, crinkled,
Spiteful, ugly, over-analytical, unlovable, wrinkled?
No.
Mirrors never show how other people see you.
Adorable, attractive, warm, honest, loving.
What exists of you?
No carbon copies, no pictures could bear
The weight of your beautiful, playful, blue glare.
Clones would collapse, too high a bar to reach,
Astound, heartache, rain-cloud eyes, cherished,
I am your ears, I am your heart, I am you.
 
With you, for you, because of you,
 
I love you.

“Thou art forbidden,”
He said, pointing to
The ominous, looming giant of a Tree
So frightening, yet we feel hints of intrigue.
But no, no we are prohibited,
Fenced in by paradise,
Fenced out by fear.

So, in our young life,
We averted our eyes.
We hurried past the Tree,
Anxious to please,
Walking briskly to the Trees of Faith, Belief, and Fate,
Brittle and weak of trunk, but of pleasant leaves
That produces such a pleasant shade
From the glaring heat of the high sun

You and I gestured and gesticulated,
Attempting to justify which tree of the three
We should use as a home.
We grunted and groaned, shrieked and moaned our dispute
And, I, in a primal huff, stomped away
Eyes blinded by frustration.

I was wholly incapable
Of reason, of sight, of sound.
In a whirling state, I stumbled.
On a root of the magnificent
Forbidden Tree.
I gasped.
There.
The source of rebellion against
Everything He taught me.

Jaw set firm, fists clenched,
I marched up to the nearest offering
Defying condition, against instinct,
I lifted my hands.
I reached for the Forewarned Curse.

I bit into sin.
Its juice burst onto my tongue
I desperately and eagerly
****** the newly revealed flesh and
Realized bliss,
Passion, tragedy, and fury,
Oasis out of chaos.

How could I have thought that this was paradise?
What vice ignorance holds!
What horror forbiddance harbors!

Oh, oh, I can Feel
My hands,
I can Feel,
Think, and
See.
I can finally Be!
What exuberant joy!
I must share, share these astounding epiphanies!

The branch that saved me still bounces and shakes,
Deceivingly resembling a sort of snake.

Oh, my love, my universe,
I will save you, I will uproot you from stagnation.
For I am now
The Venue of Truth.